‘The cake was dumped nearly two weeks ago,’ he protested. ‘It will have found its way to the rubbish tip by now.’
Flora wasn’t listening. She had spun around and was marching back up the drive, forcing him to scramble after her. ‘We’ll go through the front entrance this time,’ she said over her shoulder.
Jack sighed inwardly. How had he allowed himself to be cajoled into this? It would be a fiasco. If they started grilling the hotel staff, they would likely be thrown out.
Flora was still ahead of him, skipping up the front steps of the Priory and through the great oak doors that stood open. She walked across to the receptionist, Jack following. Like a pet lamb, he thought wryly. The receptionist’s name badge told him she was Polly Dakers. She flashed him a brilliant smile, looking past Flora as though the girl wasn’t there.
‘We’d like to speak to Miss Horrocks,’ Flora said, tapping the desk for attention. ‘Is she around, do you know?’
Lazily, the girl looped her long blonde hair behind her ears, her mouth tightening into a small moue. ‘She’ll be around, but she’ll be too busy to speak to anyone.’
‘I think we can be the judge of that,’ Flora said robustly. ‘Where is she?’
Polly gave a casual glance across the foyer to the grandfather clock that stood opposite against the wood-panelled wall. ‘At this time of day, supervising the chambermaids,’ she said in a bored voice.
‘The bedrooms then? Good.’
Jack’s gaze was drawn unwillingly to the receptionist. Polly was giving him another of her blinding smiles. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ she said. ‘Are you new in the village?’ Flora, already halfway to the oak staircase, looked back at them. He suspected she wanted to laugh.
‘No, I’m not new,’ Jack said quickly, ‘and I don’t believe we’ve met.’ He hurried towards the staircase to join his partner in crime.
‘Nothing like being blatant, is there?’ Flora was taking two stairs at a time. ‘I wonder if she tried that on with Kevin Anderson?’
‘Don’t tell me you’re discounting my unique charms?’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jack, but anyone wearing trousers…’
They had barely reached the top stair when a woman, dressed in grey from head to toe, materialised in front of them.
‘Miss Horrocks?’ Flora said brightly, wriggling her way past the housekeeper and onto the landing. She wasn’t going to be intimidated, Jack could see, but this woman would be a tough nut to crack. He hoped Flora realised that.
‘I am Miss Horrocks,’ she said, brushing an imaginary speck from the lapel of her fitted jacket. ‘And you are?’
‘Flora Steele. I run the village bookshop and this is Jack Carrington. He’s a…’ She stumbled. He could see she’d bitten back the word ‘crime’. ‘He’s a writer.’
Miss Horrocks’s perfectly arched eyebrows travelled skywards. ‘Really? And is there anything I can assist either of you with?’
‘Yes, there is,’ Flora said gratefully. ‘We’ve come about one of your guests. One of your former guests, I should say. I’m not sure if you know, but Mr Anderson died in my bookshop.’
Miss Horrocks stiffened, but Flora went on. ‘His death has upset me greatly. I know it happened nearly two weeks ago, but I can’t get it out of my mind. I was hoping to talk to you about him.’
The housekeeper looked down her nose. Literally, Jack thought, fascinated by the sight.
‘I can’t think why you would wish to talk to me,’ Miss Horrocks said. ‘I’m unable to tell you anything more than you already know. Mr Anderson was a young man, an Australian, I’m told, who had an unfortunate heart attack and died thousands of miles from home.’
‘It’s such a sad story,’ Flora said mournfully. Miss Horrocks did not look particularly sad. ‘I expect he enjoyed his stay at the Priory, though. I hope you put him in the best room.’
‘We have a number of best rooms, as you put it, and Mr Anderson was pleased with his premier suite.’
She made an impatient gesture with her hand to a bedroom nearly opposite to where they stood. It was front-facing and the door had been left open. Ready for cleaning, Jack imagined. He could see a small Juliet balcony at the far end, but little else.
‘I understand it was Mr Anderson’s birthday while he was here.’
Flora was like a small dog with a very large bone, Jack thought, and wondered if he, too, would end up gnawed.
When the housekeeper continued to stare at her, Flora prompted, ‘Mr Anderson’s birthday?’
‘I believe it was,’ the woman said finally. With an abrupt jerk of her hand, she marshalled a wisp of hair that had strayed from her chignon. ‘Really, I cannot say any more, Miss Steele, and I do have a very busy morning.’
‘I’m sure you do and I’m grateful for you taking the time to speak to me. There’s just one small thing, though – was Mr Anderson able to celebrate before… you know?’
Frost had now settled firmly on the housekeeper’s face. ‘I understand he did,’ she said tautly. ‘A little.’
‘A cake, maybe? Kate Mitchell does some wonderful novelty cakes.’
‘Why are you asking me this? It is evident you are well aware of Mr Anderson’s cake.’
‘It’s only that I wondered if Kevin got to eat any of it.’
The housekeeper had clearly lost all patience with the questions; Jack could see it was time for him to step in.
‘How much did he eat?’ he asked blandly.
Miss Horrocks looked mystified and angry at the same time.
‘You must know,’ Jack continued. ‘You threw the cake away at Mr Elliot’s instruction.’
‘Precisely what is this about? Mr Anderson had one slice of cake, and the rest was deposited in the dustbin. Are you accusing me of eating the cake? Or my staff of eating it? How dare you come up here, trespassing, I might add, and throw accusations around?’
Her voice verged on a scream and she appeared to be working her way into a major fury when one of the maids glided up and said something in the housekeeper’s ear.
Miss Horrocks turned a thunderous face towards them. ‘I have work to do. I must go and I would advise you to do the same.’ She disappeared down the corridor, whirling into a bedroom at the far end.
Jack looked down at his companion. ‘Worth a try?’ he asked.
She beamed up at him. ‘Absolutely.’
Together they slid into the room Miss Horrocks had indicated. Jack closed the door softly behind them and looked around. The bed had been stripped ready for remaking and the wardrobe doors flung wide to reveal their emptiness.
‘How disappointing,’ Flora said, dejectedly.
‘It was unlikely we’d find anything. The room will have had several occupants since the late-departed Kevin and been cleaned each time. It’s just possible, though, that he left something behind the cleaners haven’t found. It sometimes happens.’
‘Let’s make a quick search, then we can be sure. You take the bedside tables, I’ll look in the chest of drawers.’
It took only seconds to ascertain that the chest was as empty as the wardrobe, although one of the bedside tables revealed a bright green electric clock hidden away in the top drawer and a Gideon bible in pride of place in the lower.
Jack shook the clock.
‘Why are you doing that?’
He shrugged. ‘You never know. I had a hero once who found a radioactive disc in a bedside clock just like this one.’
‘We’re not looking for a disc, we’re looking for a cake,’ she said sharply. ‘Or even a few crumbs. They get everywhere and the cleaners could have missed some.’
‘Unlikely. Anyway, the pathologist would need more than a few crumbs to come up with any kind of analysis.’
‘Well since there aren’t any, he won’t be disappointed.’
Jack walked across the room to the long windows overlooking an expanse of rolling parkland. A table and chairs had been positioned to make the most of the view. ‘Not cr
umbs,’ he said, ‘but there’s a small crack in this table. And a few dots of pollen. Kevin was sent flowers, wasn’t he? The vase must have sat here. I wonder who sent them?’
‘I think we should stick to the cake. We need to keep asking questions about it.’
‘If we must. Katie’s Nook?’ he repeated.
‘Katie’s Nook,’ Flora agreed.
Seven
They were crossing the foyer, making their way towards the hotel’s grand oak doors, when Flora found herself hailed from behind.
‘Miss Steele, isn’t it?’
She turned to see the tall, thin figure of Vernon Elliot emerging from the office behind the reception desk, his leanness exaggerated by a suit so smart that Flora thought he must be dressed for a wedding.
‘Good morning, Mr Elliot,’ she said guardedly.
She was uncertain how to tackle this encounter, how to explain their presence in his hotel when they were neither guests nor diners. Then she remembered Alice.
‘We’ve been visiting Mrs Jenner,’ she offered, inventing the reason as she spoke. ‘I had to return some dishes – Alice has been spoiling me with her pies – and as it was such a lovely morning, I thought a walk would do me good. Mr Carrington felt like walking, too.’
Jack’s expression was one of determined blankness. He evidently thought poorly of her excuse. Well, let him find a better one!
‘It’s always good to see you at the Priory,’ Vernon said, his high thin voice sounding less than delighted. ‘I don’t think you’ve been here since our opening gala. You should come and eat with us some time. Mr Carrington, as well.’
She would never have the money to do so, but Flora replied to the invitation as enthusiastically as she could. ‘I will, Mr Elliot. You have made the old house look beautiful.’
That wasn’t true either. She much preferred the shabbiness of Lord Templeton’s era to the fussy lampshades, elaborate drapes, figured wallpaper and acres of velvet that its new owner appeared to favour. It was an attempt at a country-house style, devised by a man who had never lived in one.
Elliot responded overwhelmingly to flattery – Flora had realised that from the first moment she’d met him – and his face cracked into something approaching a smile. ‘Excellent, excellent. And your friend…?’
‘He’ll come and eat, too,’ she promised.
At least Jack Carrington was more likely to. Judging by the number of his books she’d sold over the last few years, he could afford to eat for both of them. She gave him a nudge.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Jack said. ‘Right now, I’m afraid, I need to be elsewhere. Miss Steele, too.’
Vernon Elliot looked disappointed. And wary, Flora thought.
‘Ah, well. Until next time, then. But make it soon!’
‘That was awkward,’ Jack commented, as they made their way back to the gates once more. ‘I thought the fellow was going to demand an explanation of why we were in his hotel.’
‘It felt like that,’ she agreed, ‘though there’s no reason on earth why we shouldn’t walk into the Priory. You could have been thinking of booking a room there and called in to give the place a look-over.’
‘Highly unlikely.’
‘But Elliot doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know you’re a hermit.’
‘I’m not,’ Jack protested. ‘I like a simple life, that’s all.’
‘That’s what I said. A hermit. You’ve probably met more people today than you have in the last year.’
Jack was quiet, appearing to think about this surprising statistic, before he said wearily, ‘And there’s more to come, I expect.’
Kate Mitchell was clearing coffee cups and emptying plates when they walked through the door of Katie’s Nook. She look tired, Flora thought, her face pale and her movements slow. The lank hair, scraped into a thin ponytail, suggested a woman who had given up caring.
She looked up when the café bell rang out. ‘Flora, how nice! You’re a bit late for coffee but I can make another pot.’
‘No need. We’re not here to drink coffee but to order a birthday cake.’
She hadn’t cleared it with Jack, but all the way back from the hotel she’d been thinking of a good reason to call on Kate. She didn’t want to be caught out again. A brilliant thought had dawned as they’d walked down the main street.
Kate’s forehead wrinkled. ‘It’s not your birthday, is it? I thought that was April time.’
‘It is. The cake is for Jack. This is Jack, by the way.’
He walked forward to shake Kate’s hand. ‘Jack Carrington,’ he introduced himself.
Flora gave him brownie points. He had taken the birthday cake idea with equanimity.
‘So what kind of cake?’ Kate asked. ‘Fruit, sponge? Traditional icing or maybe something more adventurous?’
‘Jack is a writer,’ Flora declared. ‘I was thinking of a book-shaped cake. Would that be possible?’
Kate put her head on one side. ‘I don’t see why not.’ She sounded cheerful, but Flora had the impression that every word was an effort.
‘Wonderful! We’ve been to the Priory this morning to see Alice Jenner. She mentioned the boomerang cake you baked for the poor man who died. That was what gave me the idea.’
Kate looked down at her feet and said nothing. What did she know of Kevin’s death? Flora wondered. Had she really been involved?
Uttering a silent prayer that Kate was completely innocent, she said casually, ‘That was such a clever notion. I bet your customer loved it – I mean before he… you know…’
Kate nodded, walking back behind the counter. ‘Bernie said he was delighted.’
‘Your husband delivered the cake? It’s a shame you didn’t hear the praise for yourself.’ When Kate said nothing, Flora continued, ‘Anyway, we’re lucky to have you in the village and Kevin was lucky to find you.’
‘He didn’t really,’ Kate said suddenly. ‘That was Bernie again. He suggested to Mr Anderson I make a cake for him. My husband is very good at drumming up business, especially now he works at the Priory.’
‘We saw him this morning, sweeping leaves. How long has he been there?’
Kate thought for a moment, her soft brown eyes intent. ‘Several months now. He helps out in the gardens – the contract firm only do so much – but mainly he’s in the hotel, working in Mr Elliot’s private office, preparing bills, paying invoices, dealing with confidential stuff. It’s why he didn’t want me to talk about it. Mr Elliot says he doesn’t know what he’d do without Bernie. He’s become the Priory’s Man Friday. The money is good as well. It definitely helps out.’
With a wan smile, she reached across the counter for her notebook. As she did so, Flora saw a large bruise on the inside of her wrist.
‘Now.’ Kate tapped her pencil. ‘What size cake would you like, Mr Carrington?’
‘Jack, please. Medium, I think. Sponge – I’m not crazy about fruit cake. Will that be OK?’
‘It should be. I’ll enjoy the challenge. When is your birthday?’
He hesitated for a crucial second.
‘It’s next week.’ Flora jumped in. ‘Jack wasn’t going to bother to mark the day, but when he came into the bookshop, I persuaded him to celebrate. Then when Alice told us about the boomerang, I thought a novelty cake was a great idea.’
‘The boomerang cake was great fun,’ Kate said. ‘Dad found me a picture in one of his old encyclopaedias and I sketched on paper what I thought would be the right size. Measuring the ingredients was a bit hit and miss, but Dad gave it his seal of approval – I can never stop him scraping the bowl.’
‘Did Mr Knight help you make it?’ Flora asked disingenuously.
A rare smiled flashed across Kate’s face. ‘He doesn’t usually, but this time he did. My electric mixer was having a bad day and Dad took a wooden spoon to the bowl. It was packed with fruit and needed a strong arm.’
‘It’s a shame the chap didn’t get to eat it,’ Jack said. ‘I guess it arrived too late
.’
‘I hope he ate some. I asked Bernie to deliver it after lunch that day. There would have been time to snaffle a slice or two before he offered it to the staff. I think that’s what he was going to do.’ She chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Now, the lettering? Happy Birthday, Jack?’
‘What could be better? Shall I settle up now?’
Kate finished making a note in her order book. ‘No need. You can pay me when you collect. Do you have a telephone number so I can let you know when it’s ready?’
Jack shuffled uneasily and it was Flora again who bridged the awkward silence. ‘You can telephone the bookshop, Kate. I’m only just up the street and I can drop by.’
They had walked the short distance to the door of the All’s Well before either of them spoke.
‘If poison was added to that cake,’ Jack said, ‘it could have been at any time – from Cyril Knight stirring it with his wooden spoon until the cake reached Anderson’s bedroom. An awful lot of people could have handled it.’ He held up his hands, counting the names on his fingers: ‘Kate and her father, this man Bernie, the receptionist at the hotel, a chambermaid perhaps, Miss Horrocks herself.’
Flora gave him a shrewd glance. ‘I wondered why you were interested in the time the cake was delivered.’
‘If it was delivered after lunch, it was sitting around a long time before Anderson took his drive, then returned to his room and helped himself to a slice.’
‘Before breaking into my bookshop,’ she said, her hand on the large brass knob that opened the All’s Well’s door.
‘That’s likely to have been the order of events, but none of it explains why. Why on earth would any of these people want to kill Kevin Anderson?’
She stepped back from the door, her eyes searching his face, a genuine question on her lips. ‘What do people in your novels kill for?’
‘Love, revenge, money. Anderson was a stranger here so love seems a bit wide of the mark. Revenge? Possibly. Maybe something in his past history linked him to someone here. We can’t discount that. After all, his uncle is part of the Templeton family, if only a distant relative. But it’s money I’d place my bet on.’
The Bookshop Murder: An absolutely gripping cozy mystery (A Flora Steele Mystery Book 1) Page 5